Discovering Atlantis
by Whelpie
Summary: An island emerges from the sea, and scientists are sent out to investigate. They find that the island is not quite as empty as it seems.


In 2017, on the ninth of March, our expedition arrived on the island. I still remember the journey – our ship took off from the harbour in the dead of night, and arrived at the island five days later, in the early hours of the morning. It was all very hush-hush. Where exactly the island was located, none of us knew. Not asking was one of the conditions for being allowed to be part of the expedition. And really, what scientist worth their salt would deny a chance like the one we were given? As a geologist, I jumped at the chance to explore that island. It was a unique phenomenon, they told us. An island had risen from the sea, seemingly of its own accord. Geological activity had to be behind this somehow, but the logistics of it mystified any researchers that the government had on hand to research it. That was why they had assembled a team of 27 top scientists in varying fields to figure out exactly what the island's secret was. Due to its nature, the landmass had been dubbed with the name "Atlantis". A fitting name, if there ever was one. As we arrived, and were roused from our cabins, to which we had been confined for the duration of the journey, I gathered my gear before taking my first steps onto Atlantis itself.

The first thing I noticed was the very ground beneath my feet. The shore of the island consisted of solid rock. And yet, the mineral did not seem like any other that I knew of. It seemed oddly soft, without being brittle – almost like a sort of fungus. However, when pressed on, the material seemed to harden immensely, making it difficult to take a sample. Its colour was also quite bizarre – it seemed to defy attempts at explanation, constantly switching between various hues without ever truly committing to one. It was not that the mineral changed colour – rather, whenever I tried to describe and assign it with colours in my head, I noticed that I had been mistaken in my previous assumption about the material's colour, and that it was, in fact, the complete opposite. With great difficulty, I managed to remove a sample of this material, so that I could study it later. My colleagues seemed equally fascinated by this mineral, asking the officials in charge of the expedition about it. While they did not know much, they could confirm that the entire island seemed to have been carved from this material.

The word "carved" inspired further questions, as well as piquing the interest of a couple of archaeologists in the crew. Yes, they confirmed, carved. Structures had been discovered on the island, which had to have been man-made. However, for today, they were mostly interested in what could be discovered here, on the shore. They confirmed to the eager crew that we would be heading further inwards tomorrow, but that they wanted us to remain here for the time being, for reasons that they would not elaborate on. For myself and the other geologically inclined individuals, it was not much of an issue, as the rock samples gave us plenty to research and discuss. The archaeologists and anthropologists, however, seemed somewhat dismayed and disappointed at the news. Still, though, they kept their chins up, preparing for what tomorrow may bring. We spent most of the day indoors, studying the rock samples in a lab. Tests confirmed my previous assertions – the material was extremely soft without being brittle, and yet was able to withstand large amounts of pressure. The colour of it was a cause of much debate, with any attempt at classifying it resulting in defeat. What was clear, however, was that this mineral was not consistent with any other material on Earth, and had to be a yet-undiscovered element. We eventually agreed to name this element Atlantium, after the island comprised of it.

That night, my sleep was quite fitful. I dreamt of the deep ocean, and of shapes within it. I found myself standing at the edge of the island, peering into the depths below, in which murky shapes moved around. Something about these shapes filled me with a primal dread, a fear that seemed to come not from a place of immediate panic, but from some long-forgotten memory that I struggled to recall. I never managed to make out what these shapes might be, and they seemed completely unaware of my presence. They simply swirled and moved beneath the waves. I felt a whisper exit my own lips, but I did not understand the words in it – it seemed to be merely another oddity of this bizarre dreamscape.

I awoke the next morning to find that the samples we had taken were destroyed. No outside force seemed to have acted upon them, and yet every single sample had mostly crumbled. I shook off the dread of last night's dream, and studied the remains of my own minerals. The material still seemed to be the same as it had been, but it was as if some binding agent in them had dissolved and left the samples incredibly brittle, to the point where they had fallen apart without even being touched. As bizarre as this was, however, I was not about to let it dissuade me from joining another incursion onto the island itself. We left quite early. A couple of the other geologists wanted to stay behind on the boat to research the mineral and its properties, permission for which was granted. The rest of us headed inland.

What I could conclude as the excursion went on was that everything on the island seemed to consist of this strange mineral. As we headed in, we began to see structures that at first glance appeared natural, but upon further inspection proved themselves to be less random than they appeared. It was almost as if the creators of these works had only had a half-formed idea in mind, or perhaps had simply abandoned their creations half-way through. Whatever the reasoning, the archaeologists seemed absolutely fascinated, and the anthropologists were falling over one another to classify the half-formed sculptures as belonging to this or that ancient civilisation. Personally, I was more interested in how the sculptures had been created by some pre-modern group of people with the tools available. The rock had not been easily impacted in our tests, and its falling apart would make it impossible to create tools from it, so how was it possible?

Today's excursion had only been slightly further inland than the last. Our handlers seemed to want us to take in the island's mysteries slowly, revealing only a fraction at a time. Our discontent at this cumbersome method of exploration was met with a promise that tomorrow would bring something truly fascinating, which none the less required that we put it into the perspective of the outer parts of the island before being shown. Despite more grumbling, everyone returned to the boat when we were told, bringing more samples of the rock along the way. The archaeologists were buzzing over the pictures of the sculptures that they had taken, and overall, the atmosphere could only be described as cautiously optimistic. I would soon find myself missing that optimism.

The night brought on yet more nightmares. These were different. There were shadows, dancing in front of flames. Humanoid in shape, but subtly different. Their limbs were too long, their heads too big. They were dancing, and I was watching them from above. A fire was burning in the middle of their celebrations, and I saw shapes within the fire. The shapes were made of stone, but they seemed to be writhing within the flames. In the middle of the bonfire was a massive thing, something that was also made of stone, but this was different. I am not sure what the sculpture was meant to depict – a god, perhaps. But it was different from any sort of primitive god that I had ever seen. The rock-being was incredibly detailed, and somehow also incomprehensible, its appearance seemingly defying explanation and changing as I tried to make sense of it. Just like the colour of the rock it was made from, any attempt at describing or defining it was futile, any features it may have had were incomprehensible. I tried to describe them, I try to describe them even now, but any time I recall the thing, it is different, as if it had always been that way. Nothing is changed about it, and yet it is nothing like before. As the dancing seemed to reach a crescendo, a chant began, in a language that I did not recognise. The sounds seemed familiar somehow, but all the more unsettling for it. Something about the chant seemed to resonate within the primal part of my brain, awakening something old and terrible. I awoke at last, drenched in sweat. The time was an hour earlier than I had intended to get up, but I did not go back to sleep, for fear that the dream might resume.

As it turned out, the night terrors were not unique to me. Though no one shared quite the same dreams, everyone had similar visions of ancient rituals and vaguely defined shapes moving around. We all attributed it to the bizarre nature of the island, though the government agents would not comment on these visions. Regardless, however, we continued heading inland. The rocky crevasses that we had been walking through began giving way to more open spaces, and the semi-random rock formations began turning into more defined shapes, geometric ones that seemed to have been made with some sort of purpose in mind. After two hours of walking, we eventually reached what had been promised to us the day before: A massive clearing in the rocks, in the middle of which stood something that made myself and several others gasp aloud. In the middle of the clearing stood the god-statue that I had seen in my dream the night before. And, judging by the reactions of others around me, I was not the only one to whom this sculpture was familiar. I felt reluctant to go near it at first, but as others walked up and touched it, I eventually did the same.

The rock was smooth. More than that, it was warm. It made no sense. I felt for the shape of. My touch confirmed what my eyes saw, and at least for a time, the material held its shape. I ran my fingers over a myriad of twisted faces grimacing into the air. Hands with fingers that seemed much too long and slender for anything human. And too numerous. Even thinking about the hands still brings chills down my spine. It was as if they were grasping onto something in the middle. I looked up, and I saw that all the human body parts almost formed a flower around the middle figure, which seemed like some ancient sea creature, except – its features seemed just slightly too advanced to be a mere animal. It was sitting inside the twisted flower, and its bulbous head was filled with altogether too many things that could be considered eyes. My instincts, however, told me that the indifference exuding from all the holes confirmed that these were indeed meant to be eyes. If so, then the being seemed oddly uncaring about the situation depicted in the statue, not reacting at all to the hands and faces from which it was emerging. Somehow, that seemed incredibly wrong. I would have expected an ancient god like this to exhibit some sort of malice in its expression, but it seemed to show nothing but sheer indifference.

My trance-like state was broken by a scream. I turned around and saw one of the anthropologists – I believe his name was Rogers – screaming his lungs out while staring at the statue. Someone came up and tried to calm him down, but no one was able to get through to him. The man simply stood there, frozen in a scream. Three of our handlers picked the man up and started moving him away, while the rest ensured us that he was merely experiencing a panic attack, and that they were already aware of the man's anxiety. Regardless, the experience seemed to have left everyone disquieted and unable to focus on their work, and we all returned to the ship earlier than we had expected to. We were thoroughly shaken from not only Rogers' episode, but also from the familiarity of the statue. I was not the only one to have seen it in my dreams before. When we returned, we were able to discuss this at length. Apparently, some of the other scientists had seen it before they had even arrived at the island. Some had begun manifesting these nightmares several weeks before the trip. It seemed that the longer the nightmares went on, the more vivid they became – those who had experienced them the longest told us of ancient cities built from the bizarre stone, and of terrible things befalling them. They were never able to go into quite enough detail to discern what exactly was happening, but their distress at describing the scenes was certainly real enough.

And indeed, that night was the worst yet. I dreamt that I somehow descended into the depths of the island. Through dark passages and wet, murky hallways, I went deeper and deeper underground. My journey seemed to continue for an eternity before, finally, I reached an enormous cavern. Inside the cavern, there was no light except what little seemed to emanate from my body in this dream state. One thing I could discern, however, was that something massive was inside the cavern. Maybe it was the lacking echo, or some other subconscious thing that tipped me off, but I knew for sure that something was in here. Was it alive? Was it dangerous? I tried to will myself to illuminate further into the cavern, but nothing appeared. I slowly, carefully went further in. Still, I saw nothing before me – just more darkness, quelling the light within just a few feet. At this point, I came to a realisation. I turned around, and then I saw it. A towering mass of flesh, writhing and staring at me with its horrible eyes. I awoke immediately. In those first few seconds, the darkness of my cabin alarmed me greatly, as I still thought myself to be inside the dream. Once I turned on the light, however, it became clear to me that it had not been real. I sighed with relief and sat down at my desk, writing until the morning came. I had no desire to return to sleep.

The next day was spent moving. Another ship came in, and we were told to move all of our research materials and personal belongings onto it. This new ship had a name written on the bow – Wayfarer – and its captain oversaw the move personally. Oddly, I don't think I ever saw the captain of the first ship. Even during the move, he never showed up. The captain of Wayfarer was a grim man, his face seemingly contracted into a permanent snarl. Apparently, his name was Henson. Captain Henson directed each of us to our cabins, and showed us our new research area. The laboratory here was slightly larger, but otherwise not too different from what we already had. Our government handlers did not stay with us after the move – the ones we had been with until now went home on the original ship, and a new crew had arrived on Wayfarer to overtake their duties. Introductions were swift, and not a whole lot else happened throughout the day. Many of my colleagues seemed rather distracted regardless, and I must admit that I myself ruminated quite a lot on the previous night's terrors. Perhaps the move was a welcome change from the norm, but I couldn't stop myself from feeling as if the departure of our handlers was a rather bizarre event. Still, it was deemed necessary, and as such proceeded as planned. The dinner table that night had little conversation happening, with only the Wayfarer's crew seeming in high spirits. My colleagues and I mostly remained quiet, not really being in the mood to chat.

The following morning's excursion turned out to simply be another trip out to the statue. Despite not having much use for seeing it again, something made me need to go out there once more, to witness the thing again. And so, I joined our cheerful new handlers and my dour colleagues out there once again. And once more, I found myself utterly transfixed by the statue. Its visage seemed to be looking right through all the assembled scientists, not even considering us worthy of its attention. I noticed one woman, a Dr. Olsen, who stood next to me, and was mumbling something to herself. I tried speaking to her, but she did not react, instead continuing to mumble the same incoherent sentence over and over. I mentioned it to our handlers, who quickly moved her out of there. I wanted to protest, but something kept me from doing it. Perhaps it was the presence of the statue, still sitting there, looking out, almost as if it was waiting for something. The unbidden question of exactly what hung in the air.

That night, my dreams were different. I found myself in utter darkness. I couldn't see anything in front of me, nor hear or smell anything. Just utter, complete darkness. And yet, in the darkness, I had a feeling that something was there, something horrible. I wanted to run, to leave this awful place of impenetrable dark, but I was unable to. I had no idea which way to go, and I feared that going in any direction might lead me closer to whatever was waiting out there. So I sat, and I waited. In the dream, it felt like hours passed, but in truth, I couldn't possibly say. And then, I felt something stirring. Something moved in the deep gloom, and I felt its presence. I tried my hardest not to scream, not to draw its attention towards me, but I couldn't help myself. Something primal welled up in me, my fear uncontrollable, and I screamed at the top of my lungs. Somehow, I could feel the stare of that dreadful thing in the stygian depths turn towards me. I knew it was only for a brief second, but as it did, I could sense my own frail mortality in a way that I never had before. To this thing, a human life was less than the blink of an eye. It was ancient, older than the mountains themselves, and it was staring right at me. It was a mercy that I managed to wake up at that exact moment.

I went home, at my own request, the very next morning. No questions were asked, and I do not think that I would have had the correct words to answer them if they had. What I am writing here is merely my best attempt at explaining my experiences, but it seems to me that language itself was not meant to describe such things. Whether the island still exists, or what happened to it, I do not know. All of my research was seized by the government before I left, so I couldn't consult it for the purposes of writing this letter, I only have my memories to go off. Memories that I badly wish I could remove, scrape from my mind. The only thing I can say for certain is this: They had to have known. Somehow, the government knew that the island was evil, that something was wrong about it. I do not believe that their intentions were impure – in all likelihood, they merely sought to understand a phenomenon that did not seem to make sense. I can only thank the stars that they have not yet managed to uncover the true secret of the island, of Atlantis, for I am certain that if they had, the world would no longer be the same.

I believe that the island is a prison, erected by either ancient humans, or perhaps some other race that used Earth to keep whatever ancient evil was in there from leaving. But I can only speculate, just as I can only speculate about whether it was the being's own evil will that caused its prison to resurface. I think it is a mercy that we humans know so little. I caught the merest glimpse of what lies beyond our knowledge, and I wish to know no more. Ignorance is safety, and those who do not understand this, are doomed to end up like the first poor fools who set foot on that island.


End file.
